


Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

by ViolettaValery



Series: An Indentation in the Shape of You [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Edging, Kneeling, Light BDSM, M/M, Model Michael Guerin, Obedience, Orders, POV Michael Guerin, Photographer Alex Manes, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 13:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolettaValery/pseuds/ViolettaValery
Summary: “I got you a photoshoot with Alex Manes,” Isobel tells him triumphantly.“Alex Manes?” he asks incredulously. Alex Manes is a star to anyone who follows the photography world, and Michael may have just the tiniest bit of a crush on him. About as small as the planet of Jupiter.The photoshoot goes better than Michael's wildest fantasies.





	Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo

**Author's Note:**

> So Vlamis and Tyler both do a lot of gorgeous photoshoots and Michael Guerin is the subbiest person I have ever seen so this fic kind of just....happened. 
> 
> Will I ever stop using Taylor Swift lyrics as titles? All signs point to no. 
> 
> I don't know how photoshoots actually work but I have the sense that this fic is wildly inaccurate. You didn't come to AO3 for realism, did you? 
> 
> Thanks to Insidious-Intent for betaing and jess and the rest of my Roswell fam for kicking my ass about this one, and Annie for explaining subspace to the least subby person on the entire planet. And of course knownochill for the stabby moral support. 
> 
> And yes, there will be a sequel with a "next time" and (eventually) an actual relationship.

“I got you a photoshoot with Alex Manes,” Isobel tells him triumphantly.  
  


They’re in their weekly meeting to go over his schedule and discuss photoshoot requests, and today, Isobel looks like a cat who caught not one but _two _mice.

  
“_Alex Manes?” _he asks incredulously. Alex Manes is a star to anyone who follows the photography world, each of his works charged with an edge of something that is as palpable as it is intangible, a pervading sense of eroticism or mystery or some other sensation, flitting as in a dream and yet immersive as a nightmare. He takes the science of light and angles and exposure and turns it into art, into _magic. _

  
“Yes,” Isobel confirms.

  
She’s been Michael’s manager for years now, ever since he’d realized that he preferred this career path to trying to tiptoe around red tape in labs with complete idiots. She’s brilliant – a social butterfly who seems to know _everyone, _can pull a contact out of thin air with a flick of a finger, charm those who need to be charmed and eviscerate anyone who suggests paying in exposure.

  
If she wasn’t already his sister, he’d adore her anyway. Today, he makes a mental note to buy her a gift card to that spa she loves.

  
“He saw your _Sex With Strangers _shoot,” she continues. “I guess it _inspired _him. He has a few ideas about what he’d like to do with you, but he wants you naked.”

  
Michael tries not to read too much into _what he’d like to do with you. _This is professional, he reminds himself. He’s been naked in front of the camera more often than not; it’s not going to be any different because the photographer is gorgeous as sin and talented as hell. Or because Michael has a crush on him that rivals Jupiter in size.

  
“All right, sign me up,” he agrees.

….. 

He arrives earlier than the scheduled time, bouncing with nerves and excitement. Alex’s studio is a beautiful space, large and bright, with tall ceilings and equally tall windows. It’s an overcast day, and the light spills evenly over it. 

  
And Alex – well, Alex is _gorgeous. _Michael has seen his photo before, in the back of glossy magazines and those few times he’s looked Alex up and fantasized about working with him. But – ironically, he thinks – Alex’s photo doesn’t do him justice. The man is a walking wet dream – deep dark eyes and messy, equally dark hair that give him an ethereal quality. Like he’s just stepped out temporarily from the illustration of some fairy storybook into the world of mortals.

  
“Welcome,” Alex greets, holding out his hand and pressing his hand firmly. “I’m Alex.”

  
His fingers, Michael notes, are long and slim, elegant and perfect for – no. He is a fucking professional.

  
“Figured as much,” he says lightly. “I’m Michael.”

  
Beside Alex, a girl with long dark hair and bright red lipstick gives him a peace sign.

  
“This is Rosa,” Alex introduces. “She’s my assistant. She takes care of the hair and makeup, and helps with the lighting and setup as well.”

  
“Cool,” he says. “Just tell me where you want me.”

  
Alex lets Rosa take over, who leads Michael to change into a different set of clothes. Alex, as it turns out, wants him both naked and not. Isobel had passed along his conceit for the shoot: _Modern Man || Classical God_. Michael isn’t sure how he’s a fit for either, but he also knows photoshoots are a game of illusions, lighting and angles and makeup that transform physical reality into something vastly removed from it. And Alex is a magician with the camera; Michael has no doubt that Alex can transform him into his latest masterpiece.

  
“Good luck with that,” he snorts as Rosa attempts to tame his hair. He’s sent many a stylist into tears with his unruly curls.

  
"I like it,” Rosa says. “A little rebellion is always good.”

  
She styles his sleep-fluffed curls into a semblance of order, slicking them with product while somehow managing to leave some of their volume and life. She lets one curl fall over his forehead, like it’s come loose in a moment of distraction. It looks both neat and natural, and he raises his eyebrows, impressed.

  
“Do you work with Alex on all his shoots?” he asks.

  
"Most of them,” she says proudly.

  
“No wonder his photos turn out so good, then.”

  
Rosa smirks. “Well, I gotta give him _some _of the credit,” she says, as she presses a white button-up and pants into his hand. Once Michael has donned both, she looks him over – taking in the half-buttoned shirt – and gives a nod of approval.

  
“Well, _I’d _find you attractive if I was, like, into that,” she says. 

  
When he appears again before Alex, he hopes he doesn’t misread the slight pause as Alex takes him in and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. But it lasts only a half-second before Alex’s impenetrable expression is back.

  
“I prefer to do my shoots one-on-one,” he says. “That lets me really sink into the theme of it and follow my inspiration. Is that alright with you?”

  
“Trying to get me naked and alone, Manes? Should I be worried?”

  
Alex visibly loses some of his cool while Rosa snorts in amusement. “If you’re concerned, we can have Rosa present. I assure you, I want you to be comfortable – “

  
“Relax, dude. I was joking. I’m chill with whatever works for you.”

  
“Appropriate workplace behavior is not a joke,” Alex says, sounding just the tiniest bit prissy. It’s strangely endearing.

  
Michael shrugs. “Hey, if you’re naked as often as I am, you start joking about it eventually.”

  
Alex gives the kind of put-upon sigh that Michael remembers from working in a lab with people who confused endothermic and exothermic reactions and takes his  
camera in hand. Rosa slips out with a “holler if you need me, boss,” leaving the two of them alone.

  
Alex’s demeanor changes completely the moment she does. Whereas before, he’d been simply calm and collected, now he’s _in charge. _Alex doesn’t make requests, Alex _gives orders, _and Michael wonders if he’s military given the way he issues each command almost thoughtlessly, with an expectation of it being followed that seems so natural that it is practically an afterthought. Yet his voice is unlike the barked orders of the military men Michael has met. There is no haughtiness to his directions, merely the unquestioned assumption that it will be as he says. Alex knows exactly where he wants Michael and he puts him there without a touch.

  
His instructions are as liberal as his praise, and Michael wraps both around himself like a second skin.

  
There is no conversation between them, only Alex’s words and the click of the shutter, and beyond it a comfortable silence settles over them both, in which Michael goes through pose after pose, his body bending automatically to Alex’s will as the hurricane in his mind quiets into a warm summer storm.

  
“Well, I think we’re done with that part,” Alex says eventually. “We can move on to the next half, unless you’d like a break?”

  
Michael wills his brain to turn from a liquid to a solid state enough to answer.

  
“No, I’m good,” Michael reassures. “How do you want me?” It’s an innocuous question that he’s asked dozens of times in this kind of situation, but with Alex he feels the full weight of what those words could mean.

  
Then Alex says “Naked” and Michael’s heart skips a beat.

  
He strips without ceremony. His body is his body, and somewhere around the third foster family that beat him, he’d learned to separate_ him _and his physical form_. _Then he’d worked on a ranch in his late teens, so by the time he got to college and figured out he could make extra cash with nude modelling, his body had hardened and gained definition. That had certainly helped with the self-confidence every time he stripped. By now, though, he’s been naked so often that even knowing he’s attractive by conventional standards is almost an afterthought; he’s simply completely ceased to care whether he’s wearing clothes or not. It just doesn’t seem to matter.

  
Except now; no matter how used he is to this particular arrangement of being naked in front of a man (usually a man) with a camera, the current difference in their clothing situation gains an undeniable erotic charge.

  
Alex directs him to a _contrapposto _pose, an imitation of Michelangelo’s David. It’s as uncomfortable to do as it is graceful in appearance, but once Alex’s assured tone tells him “good, hold still just like that,” Michael wants nothing more than to hold that pose for as long as Alex wants, his hip and his thigh and his muscles be damned.

  
“Turn your head a little,” Alex directs. “Perfect,” he adds, and Michael has to stop his eyes from fluttering. He can feel himself sinking into subspace; it’s like sinking into a hot bath, Alex’s every word of praise sending warmth coursing through his body until he’s fully submerged. He panics briefly that Alex doesn’t _mean _it, until he remembers all of Alex’s photographs that he’s seen. The man who turns reality into magic with nothing but light and lenses is not one who would settle for anything less than exactly what he wanted.

  
With that, he lets Alex take him down to that sweet, quiet place he loves.

  
“Are you alright?” Alex voice seems to come from a distance, breaking into his blissful feeling of floating.

  
“Yeah, I’m good.” He clears his throat. “Really good.”

  
Alex cocks his head, looking all too knowing.

  
“Huh.” He seems to consider for a second, then adds, “You know the standard safewords?”

  
Michael nods.

  
“Good. Use them, if you need to.”

  
Michael lets himself float. The camera shutter clicks, again and again, interspersed with Alex’s soft words of praise. He doesn’t know how much time passes until Alex says “well, that’s done, then.”

  
Michael wills himself to focus.

  
“There’s something else I’d like to try, if you’re willing,” Alex suggests. “It doesn’t entirely fit the theme of the shoot we agreed on, but let’s say I’ve been struck with inspiration.”

  
“Yes,” is all Michael says, and Alex’s smile is worth more than the very large check he’s getting for this shoot.

  
“Kneel for me.”

  
“Thought you’d never ask,” Michael manages, some small sliver of his flirtation finding its way to the surface. Alex looks amused as he sinks to his knees.

  
“Put your hands behind your back,” Alex directs, and the first hint of arousal pulses within Michael. “Perfect,” Alex says when he obeys, and the arousal spreads its tendrils through his limbs.

  
Kneeling like this, he’s offering his unshielded body to Alex, feeling exposed and completely _right. _

  
“Tilt your head up a little,” Alex guides him. “And hold still.”

  
He practically holds his breath as Alex moves around him, shutter clicking. Occasionally, he checks the results on the screen of his camera, looking pleased, and Michael revels in having something to give him.

  
Then Alex is in front of him, taking a final few photos, his eyes falling to Michael’s now completely hard dick.

  
“I, uh, can take care of that,” Michael offers.

  
“No, I think it adds a certain something,” Alex says, sounding pleased. He rises with a slight wince – Michael wonders if he has a bad leg – to stand looking down at him.

  
“Next,” Alex says, and Michael waits, rapt, for whatever Alex will ask of him. “I want you to touch yourself.”

  
Michael stares at him, but Alex gazes down at him coolly. He looks like he expects reality to bend to his will, and Michael scrambles to obey, to bend _his _reality, at least, to Alex’s words. Beneath Alex’s watchful gaze, he brushes a thumb over the precome on his dick and rubs at the head before moving to slow, smooth strokes.

  
“Slowly,” Alex warns as he starts to speed up.

  
Michael lets out a shaky breath as he slows his movements, gazing up at Alex through his eyelashes.

  
“What else do you like to do, when you touch yourself?” Alex asks.

  
Michael starts to answer, but Alex cuts him off. “No. Show me.”

  
He licks his fingers before bringing his other hand to his nipple, rubbing over the nub of it until it’s hard, pinching and twisting until the jolt of pain shoots a straight line of arousal to his dick.

  
“Now faster. Touch yourself the way you like to,” Alex guides. Michael thinks he detects a quiver in his voice, but his face is calm as ever.

  
He speeds up instinctively with Alex’s encouraging “keep going.” He’s so close, a few more strokes, and he tenses, ready for his release.

  
“Stop.”

  
The word is like a verdict, and he freezes instinctively at it, a puppet with its strings pulled taut, even as a low whine comes out of his mouth. He needs to come, needs to come so badly his whole body aches with it, his heart thundering, his fingers itching to touch. “_Please_,” he begs.

  
“Look at me,” Alex orders. “Deep breaths.”

  
It helps, the slow inhale-exhale calming him enough that he no longer wants to jump out of his skin with need.

  
He gazes up at Alex with what he’s been informed are his puppy eyes. He knows for a fact they’re _very _effective, except Alex is like a brick wall for all the effect they have.

  
“I’m going to make this good for you, Guerin,” Alex promises. “But it’s always better if you have to wait for it. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak.

  
“Stand up,” Alex orders, watching him carefully as Michael stands on shaky legs. He’s at the same height as Alex, now, but there is nothing _equal _between them. In that moment he realizes not only that Alex controls him but also that he feels wholly and completely _calm _at that fact.

  
“Turn around. Bend over.” The next orders are a staccato of curt words. “Spread your legs.”

  
He does, feeling exposed in a way he hasn’t in years of naked photoshoots. And, Hell, years of sex. He’s been around the block more than a few times, and there’s very few things he hasn’t tried in bed, but nothing has made him feel as vulnerable as bending over and spreading his legs for Alex. Which is strange, because it’s not like _that’s _something he hasn’t done before.

  
As if reading his thoughts, Alex asks “Do you like being on display for me, Guerin? Knowing I put you where I want you, that there’s nothing you won’t let me see?”

  
And he’s right. He’s fucking right. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do, no position he wouldn’t take, if Alex asked. Though at the moment, he has a hard time imagining anything more exposed than his current predicament of his ass in the air as Alex looks at his hole and probably decides what he wants to do with it next.

  
“Well? Do you, Guerin?” Alex repeats, and Michael realizes what he’s really asking.

  
“Yes,” he breathes.

  
“Good.” The simple word sends a shiver through him, no matter how many times Alex has used it before. He _knows _Alex means it; Alex doesn’t say what he doesn’t mean, doesn’t ask for something unless he wants it. Alex is clear and direct and all Michael has to do is obey, and it’s so _easy._

  
“Open yourself up for me.”

  
He’s got nothing but spit to work with, but he relishes the sting as he shoves two fingers inside. Then a third, probably faster than he should, but he’s so desperate for Alex inside him that pain is barely an afterthought. He just knows that he needs to _hurry_.

  
He hears footsteps on the hardwood floor – Alex drawing closer. He bites his lip and listens for the telltale sound of a belt unbuckling, but hears none.

  
Fuck, but he needs _more. _He adds a fourth finger, rocking himself back and forth until he’s not so much preparing himself as fucking himself on his fingers, and it’s still not enough, it’s still not Alex’s _cock _filling him up. “Alex, _please,_” he gasps.

  
“I told you to open yourself for me, not _fuck _yourself open,” Alex chides, and Michael stills. “Jesus, Guerin, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  
“I like it rough,” Michael ripostes.

  
It’s true most of the time, anyway.

  
“Duly noted. Now come here.” 

  
It takes him several seconds to process the order, to realize that _he’s _the one who has to move, that Alex won’t so much as reach out a hand to touch him. He whimpers as he withdraws his fingers. Closing the few steps of distance between them on legs that feel like Jell-O, he feels desperately empty, yearning for Alex’s (sizeable, if the bulge he sees is anything to go by) cock to split him open the way even his fingers couldn’t. Standing as close to Alex as he dares, he tries and fails to keep himself from shaking with need.

  
Alex still, _still _hasn’t touched him.

  
“Tell me what you want,” he says instead.

  
This close to Alex, staring at his face, eyes falling to his lips, Michael blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

  
“I want to kiss you.”

  
Alex hums in agreement as his eyes flit down to Michael’s lips, and Michael thinks that finally, Alex will close the distance between them, plant his lips on Michael’s. Instead, he doesn’t move, merely says coolly, “then kiss me.”

  
Michael does. Softly at first, then putting more of his need into it. He wants to grab Alex, to pull him closer, to tangle a hand in his hair as he shows Alex just how much he _needs. _Instead, he only presses their bodies together – gratified to feel Alex’s hardness against him – and hums into Alex’s mouth when he feels a gentle hand on his side.

  
And still, though Alex kisses him with passion, he does not lose himself in it. Still, there is that _control, _even as Michael’s tongue explores his mouth and bites at his lip.

  
Michael comes away from the kiss woozy, all his willpower restraining himself from clinging to Alex for the slightest feel of friction, of pressure.

  
“What else do you want?” Alex asks. _Fuck, _will anything break this man’s cool demeanor?

  
“I want to make you feel good. And I want you inside me.”

  
“That can be arranged,” Alex says, as if he’s scheduling a fucking _meeting. _His hand rests on Michael’s shoulder, pushing him down, and Michael goes, his knees hitting the familiar hardwood floor. He watches as Alex _finally _unbuckles his belt and pulls out his cock.

  
Michael licks his lips at the sight and looks up to Alex for permission.

  
“You are a hidden treasure,” Alex says, sounding awed. And that, Michael doesn’t know what to do with, so he merely parts his lips, inviting Alex to use him.

  
But Alex has other plans first, as he traces Michael’s lips with the tip of his cock, lining them with precome. Michael can’t stop himself from licking his lips again, and Alex finally loses control in the form of a needy and desperate sound that crashes through his veneer of control.

  
Finally, Alex feeds the length of his cock into Michael’s mouth until it hits the back of his throat. He blinks his eyes quickly as they water and flexes his hands where they rest on his lap, but remains still. His cock pulses again, reminding him that _yes, _Alex is _using _him and it’s _good._

  
Alex withdraws slightly, allowing Michael to inhale a desperate breath.

  
“Show me what you can do,” he coaxes.

  
Michael merely swallows the entire length of Alex’s cock back down and holds his gaze, his intent clear.

  
It’s like something snaps. Alex begins to thrust, sheathing himself each time with a paradoxically controlled lack of control, and Michael lets his eyes flutter closed, lets himself feel in every part of his body the sensation of existing purely for Alex in that moment, of being completely _full _of Alex, and floats.

  
It’s a shock when Alex withdraws, and Michael whimpers at the loss. Alex is clearly close, his hand replacing Michael’s mouth as he strips his cock. Desperate and unthinking, Michael chases the tip of it, lips parted and his tongue out, longing for another taste.

  
Alex takes it as permission, settling one hand at the side of his head while he brings himself off with the other and paints Michael’s lips and tongue with his climax. Michael licks this off, too, relishing Alex’s sharp inhale and the way his twitches at the sight, and looks up for further direction.

  
Alex considers him for a brief second, then rolls his hips forward. Michael parts his lips instinctively, allowing Alex to feed his now-limp cock into Michael’s mouth.

  
“Touch yourself,” the instruction comes, Alex’s voice surprisingly hoarse after so long of nothing but his mild, collected tone.

  
It doesn’t take him long, and when Michael comes, it’s with his cheeks aching from the stretch of Alex’s cock and the taste of him on his tongue.

  
Finished, he wants nothing more than to turn into a puddle on the floor. He rests his head on Alex’s thigh and Alex allows it, a hand in his hair and words of praise falling over him like soft rain. For what feels like hours, he makes no move to change their position, but eventually Michael feels the muscle below his cheek tense and Alex’s balance shift.

  
Shit. It must be whatever’s wrong with Alex’s leg that’s bothering him.

  
In a gargantuan effort, he forces himself to stand; Alex catches him when he stumbles. The next thing Michael knows, Alex is literally sweeping him off his feet and carrying him bridal style to deposit him on a couch in the corner of the studio. Michael goes where Alex guides, settling in with his head on Alex’s lap and lets out a contented sound that Alex mirrors.

  
“You’re like a cat,” Alex says in fond amusement.

  
“Mhmmm.” True to his cat-like nature, Michael curls up even more and allows Alex to stroke his side.

  
“You know, I’m still all wet and open for you,” Michael says after a while, and is gratified tohear the hitch in Alex’s breath.

  
He’s even more gratified by the way Alex’s voice voice goes raw and gravelly as he says, “that’s for next time.”

  
“Next time?” Michael asks hopefully.

  
“If you want one.”

  
As if that’s a question. As if Michael wouldn’t let Alex bend him over and fuck him right now, raw and sensitive and sated and half-asleep as he is. His cock attempts valiantly to harden at the thought of Alex _using _him like that, Michael’s own pleasure an afterthought as he fucks into him.

  
“Mmm,” is all he manages, hoping Alex can decode his gibberish.  
  


“We’ll talk about it later,” Alex says instead.

  
Michael settles in against him and waits to surface. Suddenly, a chuckle makes its way out of him.

  
“What’s so funny?” Alex asks.

  
“Do you think this counts as _inappropriate workplace behavior?_”

  
He will relish Alex sputtering, at a loss for words, for the next several weeks.


End file.
